


We're A Mess

by ktbl



Category: Mortal Kombat (Video Games)
Genre: Clothed Sex, Established Relationship, F/M, Okay Maybe a Thin Thread Of Plot, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Post-Mission, Safehouses, Shameless Smut, Thank God We're Alive Sex, Wall Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-22
Updated: 2021-02-22
Packaged: 2021-03-19 10:34:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29624961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ktbl/pseuds/ktbl
Summary: “We clear?”“Shut up, Sonya.” He holds a hand up towards her, his voice tight in his throat. She clamps her lips shut, her heart pounding in her chest. He looks better than she feels, even though she can see the dark streaks across his face from something sooty carrying along one side. She’s sure the other half of that streak is across her back. She wipes at her forehead with the back of one gauntleted hand, and looks down at the soot and sweat smeared across it. She’s going to need a shower once they’re in the clear. Long and hot enough to scald her skin, make her go pink and woozy with the steam and heat.Silently waiting, she reaches for her comm unit. Her thumb flicks over it and she scrolls through the messages sent their radios were fried. Her request for evac as they booked it out of the hideout, the safehouse address and order to remain in place, the guesstimate of twelve to sixteen hours before their exfil. And firm orders tonot open the fucking door, Blade.
Relationships: Sonya Blade/Takahashi Kenshi
Comments: 2
Kudos: 7





	We're A Mess

The adrenaline is still pounding through her veins as they shove the door to the warehouse closed behind them. She slides the locks - all four of them - shut, knocking on the door once. It rings gently, as though metal is hiding under the wooden veneer. _Please let it be reinforced._ While she is busy with a visual check on their security, Kenshi crosses the room towards the curtain-shrouded window. It’s ten steps for his long legs, maybe eleven. He doesn’t twitch the curtain aside, but tilts his head towards it, listening.

“We clear?”

“Shut _up_ , Sonya.” He holds a hand up towards her, his voice tight in his throat. She clamps her lips shut, her heart pounding in her chest. He looks better than she feels, even though she can see the dark streaks across his face from something sooty carrying along one side. She’s sure the other half of that streak is across her back. She wipes at her forehead with the back of one gauntleted hand, and looks down at the soot and sweat smeared across it. She’s going to need a shower once they’re in the clear. Long and hot enough to scald her skin, make her go pink and woozy with the steam and heat.

Silently waiting, she reaches for her comm unit. Her thumb flicks over it and she scrolls through the messages sent their radios were fried. Her request for evac as they booked it out of the hideout, the safehouse address and order to remain in place, the guesstimate of twelve to sixteen hours before their exfil. And firm orders to _not open the fucking door, Blade_.

She can’t hear any sign of the assholes that had been gunning for them, but this is one case where she’s going to defer to Kenshi’s heightened hearing and his telepathy. She takes a deep breath to try to steady herself, but all it does is fill her nose with the smell of dust, something old and floral, and the heady scent of cardamom and cloves underneath it all. The reek of sweat and acrid tang nitroglycerin almost overwhelms her, and she sneezes several times in quick succession.

Kenshi’s mouth pulls sideways and his chin dips but he doesn’t smile, not quite. He gives her an all-clear sign and the tension in the room doesn’t drop, so much as it takes on a different feeling. Her heart is still pounding, her breathing still heavy, all her senses cranked up to eleven, but the mantra of _fuck fuck fuck_ drops the panic and switches to instinct. Kenshi walks back over to her and one hand skims her arm. His fingers knot in the fabric of her jacket and he hauls her tight against him.

She catches his face in the frame of her hands and kisses him hard, almost pushing him against the wall. His mouth is sealed for a moment before it opens under her assault, and he deepens the kisses. His tongue slides into her mouth, his hands releasing and grabbing her jacket, but never quite letting her go. It’s a long and demanding kiss, and she’s certain his heart is hammering as hard as hers. They break the kiss, but barely move; his breath pools against her cheek. She tries to think of something to say but her brain won’t quite shift gears. The cacophony of car horns in the street outside fills the room, and she waits still - but no sounds of pursuit come in their wake.

“You almost died.” His voice catches, like there’s something else he wants to say but it won’t, can’t, escape.

“So did you.” She catches his lower lip between her teeth and tugs at it. She can see his Adam’s apple bob in his throat, the way the skin above his blindfold draws down and the furrows on his forehead. “We have a habit of that.”

“One we should stop. I don’t have a death wish.” He pauses, and she doesn’t need to say anything. She arches an eyebrow and his lips pull up as if he can see her expression. “Any more.” His hands slide down to her hips, tug her in against his own.

“Right. Neither one of us is going to change. Too many years like this.”

His response is a wordless growl, almost savage. It’s the kind of noise that should by rights send chills down her spine, but all it does is make her nipples pebble and her heart pound even faster. She reaches up and pulls the blindfold down, baring his face and the clouded, scarred white of his eyes. She kisses the corner of one of them, brushing her lips across it and along the side of his face to his ear. His fingers dig tighter into her pants, working into the space between her waistband and her skin. The feeling of the leather gloves against her abdomen makes her hiss and tip her head back. She can feel the warmth of his fingers through the smooth leather. She wants those fingers elsewhere, bared from their armor. On her skin, across her face, between her legs, everywhere they can’t be because they’re both fucking _dressed_. She tugs on the lobe of his ear with her teeth, listening to the moan that rips out of his throat at it, and the way he can’t quite get his breath back after.

Kenshi steals her breath with another kiss, pressing his mouth to hers almost hard enough their teeth click together. His tongue sweeps through her mouth, destroying the last of her restraint as he hauls her hips closer to him. Even through their clothing she can feel something pressing low against her body that definitely is not his belt. He pulls his hands out from her clothes, slotting a leg between her legs in their place. His hands skim up her body, pausing at her breasts. He squeezes and kneads them aggressively, just the right side of good. It’s rough but nothing sweet and slow would suit either of them right now. She wants to feel _alive,_ and if she stops what she’s doing for too long and thinks back on half an hour ago, it’s going to put a damper on all of this.

Life, now. And there’s one way that’s always the best for that.

Her fingers scrabble against the freshly-scratched articulated chest plates of his armor, trying to get some kind of hold on him. She snarls in frustration as she fails to do so. Her eyes close for a moment. She hears the blood rushing through her, thundering in her ears. His fingers tugging on her nipples drop away. She opens her eyes and sees him fighting with his gloves. She takes one of his hands in her own and works it free and loose from the tight sleeve of his padded shirt. He tugs at the second with his teeth, and then both of his hands are bare and seizing her face in his hands. Their lips slant together again, easier this time, hot and hungry. He swallows her hungry moan as he cups her face in his hands, fingers stroking along her cheekbones, her jaw, holding her close to him.

Sonya drops her hand down the plates of armor until she finds the fabric of his pants. She can feel the length of him trapped behind it, already hard and straining at the material. She rubs her palm over him. Kenshi makes another one of those growls that send molten heat flooding low in her body, and she strokes her hand over him with greater pressure. One of his hands tangles in her ponytail, wrapping it around his fist. The light tug at her scalp makes her moan, the wet heat between her legs growing. He grins against her mouth.

Her fingers work the button and zip of his pants until she can slip her fingers inside them. She works her way through the fabric layers beneath with more patience than she expected possible right now. The grin on his face turns to a slack expression and then a groan when her fingers meet skin, hard and hot and smooth.

“Gotcha.” She listens to his breathing hitch as she brushes her fingertips along his length.

A little more tugging and she has the length of him in her hand and out in the open. She does not have the patience right now to try to peel him out of all of his gear. He’s already hard, and a few strokes from base to tip make him curl his fingers in on themselves, his mouth hang half-open with clear desire. She brushes her thumb across the head of his cock, feels the moisture there, and grins smugly. He kisses her again, pushing her slightly with his body. Her hand wrapped around him, she takes several steps backward, trusting him, until she feels her back push against the cold flat surface of the wall.

His hands are in her pants, unhooking her belt and pulling her clothes down along her thighs, just far enough for access. She helps, dropping her belt off and angling her back against the wall, tipping her hips forward. She _could_ pull off her boots, one leg of her pants, bend her leg up and fuck him silly this way - it might work - but that would be too much clothing off, too much time wasted.

The throbbing between her legs is almost painful. Kenshi runs his fingers along her inner thighs and she adjusts her legs a little wider. She feels him swipe a finger right along her center, thumb running a circle around the sensitive bud of nerves at the apex of her thighs. She arches her back slightly and pushes back against his hand. She wants this, wants him, _now_. If she wanted lovemaking she’d strip them both down and spend hours, but she doesn’t have the time for that right now. She wants him in her and wants him in her _now_.

His mouth pulls into a broad smile, a flash of teeth in his tanned face bright against his dark beard.

She gives him a stroke from base to tip and watches as that cocky grin goes a little tight around the edges. She smirks. “Reading my mind?”

“Absolutely. Safehouse, remember? The quieter the better.” He brushes his hand between her thighs again, pressing gently along her folds. She’s slick and knows it; it’s easy for him to tuck a finger inside her. She welcomes it and rolls her hips almost instinctively. The contact is blissful, He works his finger a few times, pulling it out just to the tip and adding a second finger as he slides it back in. He works her quick and without finesse, once again just on the right side of rough and good that only stokes the desire in her. His thumb works circles around and over her clit, spiking pleasure through her with every movement. Her head drops back against the wall, the painted concrete hard against her but it doesn’t matter, not when he’s fingerpicking her. She works her hand faster around him until he gives another one of those low moans that goes straight to her groin.

She lets go of his cock and turns around slowly. His fingers play over the bare skin of her thigh and then her ass as she turns, before slipping back down between her legs. This isn’t her favorite position by any means, but in a pinch it’s good enough. She wants to dig her fingers into something, but the only thing in front of her is the wall. The painted concrete is rough under her hands; she spreads her fingers out to find some purchase.

Behind her, his fingers keep up their slow and steady rhythm for what seems like hours with the amount of desperation that she feels. The adrenaline is slowly falling but the desperate need to get him in her hasn’t changed a whit. He makes a sound that might be amusement. Then she feels the press of his cock against her, pushing just inside her, enough to make the desire take on a new and heightened level.

He pushes in slowly, almost as cautiously as he had their first time. His breathing stutters and for a moment she is overwhelmed with the need to see his face, but craning her head around like that is just too damn awkward. She always loves this moment, savors it when she can sink onto him. That moment when his entire world, so driven by every other sense, has narrowed down to their bodies joined together. He moans as she pushes back against him and adjusts her stance ever so slightly. She can feel every inch of him, his thighs flush against hers.

He pulls out and then drives into her more forcefully. She clamps her mouth shut around a moan of pleasure - barely. Both of his hands curve around her hips, steadying her body. She swallows hard and isn’t sure she would know if someone fired off a clip right by her head. This feels better than it has any right to be, but she doesn’t care. This is good, and good is all she wants. Good means they’re alive. Good means nobody’s come after them yet.

She matches his rhythm and rocks back against him, trying to dig her nails into the wall to no avail. He brushes a hand up her side and drags her shirt up along with it, dancing over the arch of her ribs. He cups one of her breasts in his palm, thumb rolling over her nipple again. It almost aches at the contact and she arches her back, pushing into his touch. The new angle makes both of them gasp as he hits new places. Jolts of pleasure streak through her body. His fingers squeeze tightly on her, callused fingertips catching on her skin. All she can think of is the pleasure building up in her body, the coil tightening with every thrust. She’s damn sure she can feel her heartbeat throbbing between her legs.

Moving his head down beside hers, his ragged breathing is loud in her ear. His movements begin to go a bit uneven. His fingers knead at her, the other one going from her hip to her ass and back again, then sliding around to her stomach and dropping between her thighs. She swallows, leaning her head forward against the wall as he brushes a finger across her clit. Her own breath catches and she rolls her hips again. She pushes back from the wall, dropping down slightly against the wall. She presses her thighs together, catching his hand in place. It’s new angles again, eliciting another low growl from him at the tighter, deeper fit.

Years together mean she knows what makes him tick, and there is one thing missing. She reaches one of her hands off the wall, stifling a grunt as he keeps moving. She reaches down and catches the hand on her breast in hers, dragging it to the zip on the front of her bra. Touch is so critical for him - there’s something to be said for urgency, but she knows how much skin-to-skin contact means. His fingers pull the zip down and she can feel him shudder behind her as the front of her sports bra springs loose. His hand goes back to its prior place, cupping and squeezing and brushing her now-bared skin. There’s a new sense of desperation in his touch, an almost fevered pace as he savors the touch of skin on skin.

“You good?” For only two words, they’re tough to get out through her mouth coherently.

“More than, now.” He accompanies the words with a squeeze and a forceful thrust and she barely stifles her moan. It only seems to incite him further. She bites down on the string of obscenities she wants to say, the recitation of _fuck fuck fuck_ that wants to bubble out of her throat. She plants her hand back on the wall and meets his every motion, the room gone loud with the sound of skin on skin and his breaths rough and fast in her ear. She can tell he’s close by the way his breathing begins to go more uneven. His hands are everywhere, along her stomach and between her legs, on her breasts, wrapping around her messy plait.

The rhythm breaks as he drives into her one last time, so hard and deep it’s almost like he is trying to fit more of himself in her, a prospect she would gladly take. His breathing almost stops as he spends himself in her, and she is convinced she can feel him twitching inside. It is enough to make the coil within her snap, all the tension spent in her own release. She can feel her toes curl in her boots and her fingers try to dig into the wall as pleasure races through her. Sonya squeezes her eyes shut as his fingers don’t stop moving and he works her through the rush of bliss, half-supporting her frozen muscles with his grip. She comes back to herself what seems like minutes later. Her breathing is uneven and harsh in her ears. But that tension - the one that had been coiling in her, and the one so worried about being pursued - is quickly fading away.

She laughs, and it sounds a little manic even to herself. She steps forward and leans her head against the wall, chest heavy and her heart hammering away in her chest.

“The cleanup on this is going to be a bitch.”

“This, or the mission?” Kenshi’s voice is behind her, rich with amusement.

“Both, pain in my ass.” She straightens and turns around, looking around the little apartment for the bathroom. Her eyes light on a door set off to one side, and she awkwardly makes her way towards it, brushing past him. “We’re a mess.” _Please_ let this place have a decent shower, _please_.

“I don’t need vision to know that.” He reaches out a hand and it brushes along the nape of her neck. She feels the hairs jump up along her spine and can only half clamp down on the faint moan from the grazing contact. “How bad’s the situation?”

“Your clothes, my clothes, the debris in our wake? The amount of paperwork this op is going to have me doing?” She opens the bathroom door and groans audibly. Toilet, sink, and a rickety showerhead that is at least attached to indoor plumbing, along with two battered plastic buckets. There’s no sign of a hot water heater. “Oh, rest assured, Kenshi, we’re well and truly fucked, this time.”

“With you, there’s never any other way.”


End file.
